


to make a beginning

by mikaylamazing



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Found Family, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Human Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Retcon, Series Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28860459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikaylamazing/pseuds/mikaylamazing
Summary: “There has to be something we can do,” Dean says, giving no context as his brain operates at a hundred miles per hour.“What-”“Cas. Right? The guy’s died like a hundred times, and this time I’m just supposed to believe that it’s permanent? Why haven’t we done anything yet?”---Series finale rewrite that we all deserve. Finally tying up all the loose ends and letting everyone live full, significant lives, the way they were supposed to, with still enough angst to make you shed a tear or two.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak
Comments: 32
Kudos: 362





	to make a beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Important note: I did retcon Jack absorbing Chuck's powers because I think it's stupid. He is just a little boy. He's not ready to be god, ever.
> 
> Also, to the people waiting on the final chapter of "You and Your Husband," it should be done and published soon! I got caught up in writing this fix-it, and then got caught up in d*pression, but I'm back to writing at a semi-regular schedule and look forward to wrapping up the story.

When the dust settles, things are strange. Not strange in the way their lives have always been. But almost like everything is  _ too  _ normal. Sam and Dean wake up in the morning like they always have, and look for cases like they always have, but the rooms are quiet, they can barely think, and it’s not the same.

And of course it isn’t; why should it be when they’ve spent so long trying to change it? It’s the logical progression of things, Sam tells himself, but he can’t help but feel like they can’t do it. 

_ Maybe we don’t know how to be on our own.  _ Not that they’re really on their own; Jack still sleeps in the room at the end of the hall, and the rest of their friends are back to living their normal lives, like Chuck’s last year of manipulation hadn’t even happened. Which would be great if that weren’t the only thing occupying Sam’s thoughts on a near-constant basis

Like fish who never knew they were in water, being taken out of the tank is jarring. Sam cooks and does laundry but it feels like something major is missing, and he shakes at the mere thought of possibly missing Chuck’s control. He tries to adjust, and he tries to just  _ live _ , but when he stops to look at Dean, it’s like he’s back to square one.

His brother is miserable. Dean stopped being able to hide it years ago, but every once in a while Sam humors him, pretends not to notice because he knows Dean needs his space. But it’s been almost two months since they lost Cas and he hasn’t moved an inch. Sam starts to worry that he never will. 

Sam teaches Jack the basics of the bunker, so he can do his own laundry and eat something other than sugary cereal and maybe even fix things when they break, but in the lulls of silence between their actions, he can’t help but think this is something Dean would normally love to do, that he would jump at the opportunity to tell Sam he’s doing it wrong and show Jack the  _ right way.  _

Dean functions. He eats and sleeps and looks for cases, but he doesn’t speak beyond simple sentences and he mostly stays to his room. He’s quiet in the loudest way possible, and Sam wants nothing more than to break that silence open, for his own sanity, sure, but for Dean’s too. He’s moments away from finally asking Dean if he wants to talk about it when Dean speaks first.

“I think I finally found us a case. Oklahoma City. Might be nothing, but it’s not like we have anything better to do,” Dean says, sliding his phone across the table, a local news article pulled up. Sam glances over it. It  _ does  _ seem like nothing, but he nods his head anyway.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go pack my stuff. We can leave in 20.” Dean smiles at him, empty behind the eyes as he leaves to gather his own things. He methodically folds clothes and checks his guns, but it’s not like before. None of it is like it was before, but Sam lets Dean pretend like it is, just for this case, he tells himself. 

When Jack asks to come along, the tension in Dean’s shoulders travels up his neck and settles in his jaw. He swallows three times before he speaks, Sam eyeing him warily the entire time.

“Look, this is probably nothing, but it’s best if you stay here. Besides, it’ll only be a couple days, tops, and someone has to keep an eye on this place,” Dean says, rocky at the start, but eventually bringing it around in a way that sounds like he’s entrusting Jack with an important responsibility, as opposed to keeping him locked up in a safe house. Sam doesn’t even think about asking when exactly Dean became so concerned about Jack.

The drive to Oklahoma City is silent.

To Sam’s surprise, it  _ is _ a case: a lone werewolf, something that could have easily flown under their radar if Dean hadn’t been paying such close attention to the smaller details. He’d cut loose from his family and managed to kill a single person in his rebellion; messy and gory to convince the townsfolk it was a bear. If they had anything else going on in their lives, he might have convinced Sam and Dean too. The victim’s heart hadn’t even been completely missing, though what was left hadn’t been more than a mangled, bloody clump.

They take care of him with a silver knife, quick and easy motions that end up feeling heavy, the blade dragging a little as Dean removes it from the lifeless body. Sam can’t help but think about Garth and the fact that they haven’t talked in a while. He starts feeling a little sick.

In turn of events Sam could never have expected, Dean doesn’t even try to antagonize the rest of the family. He doesn’t square his shoulders or set his jaw to intimidate them, instead leaving with a weak ‘Keep each other in line’ and a pat to one of their shoulders, walking back to the car like none of it even happened. 

The car ride back to the bunker is tense and stilted for 2 whole hours before Sam clears his throat.

“You really kept your head back there,” he says, going for an objective tone but Dean tenses anyway.

“Was I not supposed to?” Dean asks. He keeps his eyes on the road, his hands squeezed tight around the steering wheel, but Sam can see the way the gears in his brain won’t stop moving. He’s constantly thinking, and Sam wants to tell him he can have those thoughts out loud, but he’s afraid it’ll just make him even quieter. 

“No, I’m just impressed that you handled it like that.”

“Not like there was an alternative. They were innocent. They shouldn’t have to pay for someone else’s choices.” He says it simply, like it’s just another fact of life. But Sam’s been there when Dean has thought the opposite, when they fought about the black and white of it all, the gray morality that still sometimes left him feeling a little unsettled. 

“Yeah. Obviously,” is all he can think to respond with, but he knows there’s something underneath the words that Dean just isn’t saying. He doesn’t push any further. 

It isn’t until they get home that they both realize the case was too easy; that everything is too easy now, and they have nothing to fill up their days. In general, the cases are too few and far between to amount to much, and it’s harder to justify driving across the country in the impala now that Dean knows she’s running on borrowed time. 

They stare at their phone screens, waiting on a call to action, but the occasion never arises. The world has never been better off, and in turn, Dean’s never felt so unneeded. They still get calls from Jody and Claire, but not because they need their help with anything; just to talk. And Dean’s been avoiding ‘just talking’ to anyone like he’ll start bleeding from his eyes if he even thinks about it. They all want to talk about the same thing, the same person. Sam’s done his best to fill them in on what happened, in a quiet voice behind his locked bedroom door, but even he doesn’t have all the details. 

He’d wanted to scream about how it wasn’t fair, that Cas was his friend too, and that he deserved to know what happened, but every time the anger bubbled up inside of him, he’d see the glassy reflection of Dean’s eyes or the way his feet drag when he retreats, down the hallway and further into himself. The words stay caught in his throat, even when he knows nothing good has ever come from keeping things in. He also knows nothing good has come of trying to make Dean talk before he’s ready. 

***

They mostly just sit around. Dean observes this almost immediately because it’s not something they’ve ever done before. Even when they’d say they were resting from a particularly rough case, they’d stayed alert and prepared for the next one.

Dean knows Sam is trying to lean as far into normalcy as he can, every day, almost ritualistic about it. Sam goes on morning runs and makes breakfast and watches the 7 o’clock news, but Dean can see the way his enthusiasm starts to wane too, the way he doesn’t quite believe all the things he tells Jack. So it doesn’t come as a surprise when Sam sits at the table with Dean and starts tapping his fingers relentlessly - no rhythm, just incessant tapping. 

“Look, whatever it is, just say it already. I can handle it,” Dean says, putting his fork down and looking right at him. Sam stares back like he knows Dean isn’t telling the truth; like he pities him. It makes Dean want to throttle him, which is, admittedly, the first strong feeling he’s had in weeks. He doesn’t say so aloud for obvious reasons

“Well, we haven’t had a case in a while. So if we’re not doing anything right now, Eileen and I kinda wanted to, you know, get away for a bit,” Sam announces, but he won’t meet Dean’s eyes, probably feeling guilty just for wanting to live his life. Dean ignores the crushing weight of emotions he experiences in that moment, all of them biting at each other until he forces them to be silent. 

“So what, you’re asking me for permission?” Dean asks, trying to lean into teasing his brother like he always has, but it falls flat. 

“No, of course not. It’s just- If you don’t want to be alone, maybe you could come with us,” Sam suggests. It only manages to make Dean feel even worse. He almost laughs. 

“And what about Jack? We’re just supposed to leave him here alone for who knows how long? The kid just defeated God with a capital G. Forgive me for not thinking that’s a great idea,” Dean snaps, but it’s in a way that shows Dean’s upset about something else entirely, merely projecting those emotions onto the issue at hand and making it bigger than it needs to be.

“Jack can come too,” Sam says, but it’s like he knows that it won’t actually solve the problem because he and Dean are talking about completely different things. They’re not even speaking the same language anymore. 

“I’m not coming with you, that’s stupid. I’m fine, so go have fun. I’ll watch after the kid and make sure he remembers your dishwashing technique. Just remember to bring me back a postcard from wherever it is you end up.”

“Dean-” 

“No, Sam. You deserve this. Go. Have fun.” 

And he does, reluctantly, pausing between motions to see if Dean has changed his mind. But eventually, Dean hears the front door of the bunker screech and slam closed. It’s the purest quiet Dean’s ever experienced, even with the constant hum of the generators. He isn’t alone, but he sure as hell feels like he is.

For the first time in his life, he has no one looking over his shoulder; no God looming over him to make sure he stays in between His poorly drawn lines. No brother stopping him from making bad decisions. No angel to…. 

He can’t finish the thought. There are so many ways that he could, but none of them even feel right anymore. He has too many words to say and nobody to say them to, which Dean thinks is as pathetic as it sounds. It hurts and it isn’t fair because they’re finally  _ done  _ and yet something inside him still feels like rough, unsanded wood, scraping at his lungs and leaving splinters. 

It doesn’t take long for Dean to start feeling restless, especially when Sam’s not there trying to psychoanalyze his every move. He paces the length of the bunker like it’s his damn job. He knows Jack can hear his footfalls, and that on another level, he can probably even feel Dean’s energy radiating through the walls, but he remains mercifully silent, only engaging in conversation when Dean initiates it. He never expected the kid of all people to just understand when to leave him alone, but he’s grateful for it. 

But the silence isn’t enough, because they’re sitting across from each other at the kitchen table, nothing but the sound of their forks scraping their plates, when Dean finally snaps. And at first, Dean thinks it’s nothing in particular, that he’s just finally reached his limit, that even  _ he  _ can’t hold back everything, but when he looks at Jack - really looks at him - all he sees is Cas. 

It’s like touching a live wire, but worse somehow. The fork slips out of his hand, and it only makes Jack look at him more intently. The silence still sits between them until Jack tilts his head; a slight movement that some people might not have even perceived, but Dean’s seen the exact same mannerism for years. 

“God, you just-” Dean says, struggling to speak through his clenched teeth, all other words falling out from under him, dying in the back of his throat. He can feel tears begin to build up in his eyes, threatening to fall if he doesn’t pull himself together. He only narrowly manages to stop them, sniffling pathetically before finally looking back at Jack, face twisting up in concern, the way Cas’s always would. 

And Dean’s resented Jack before. Dean has seen the hurt he caused and the rifts he created in his own family, something he could never rationalize, even to himself, but continued to do out of sheer stubbornness. He’d wanted to stop then and he doesn’t want to start now, but he can’t deny the ache in his chest that makes him desperate for one of those outbursts; the kind that echo throughout the bunker on especially quiet nights; the kind that still make his ears ring when he can’t sleep. 

There’s a laundry list of reasons why he doesn’t do it, things he’s learned over the last few years, from just  _ having  _ a family outside of Sam, but when it comes down to it, no amount of anger and spite and rage will bring Cas back, plain and simple. He’ll only come closer to losing the last of the people in his life who still care about him. He’s come close enough. 

So when Jack asks “What’s wrong?” Dean answers truthfully.

“There has to be something we can do,” Dean says, giving no context as his brain operates at a hundred miles per hour. 

“What-”

“Cas. Right? The guy’s died like a hundred times, and this time I’m just supposed to believe that it’s permanent? Why haven’t we done anything yet?” he asks, standing from his chair and working himself up to the point of potential anger or hysteria, but he never gets there. Jack looks at him thoughtfully, too knowing for a person who’s only existed on the planet for three years. He sits up straight.

“I miss him a lot. He always knows how to make me feel better when I’m having a bad day,” Jack says, nearly at a whisper with equal parts reverence and sorrow. He seems to contemplate his words before continuing, “I didn’t want to talk about it until you were ready.”

It should sound patronizing coming from a kid, like he has emotional maturity Dean can’t even dream of, but he once again only finds himself thanking the disembodied energy of God that at least  _ someone  _ understands how he operates.

But now he also needs Jack to understand that they need to get Cas back as soon as possible. 

“You shared a consciousness with Chuck, right? There had to be something in there that could help us out. He controlled everything.” 

“It was a very short, very loud period of time. I’m pretty sure I instinctively blocked a lot of it out to protect myself, and then it just… dispersed. I’m not sure I remember anything, and even if I did know everything he did, Chuck didn’t necessarily control the empty.” 

It isn’t what Dean wants to hear, and he knows that Jack can tell because he looks apologetic despite having no control over the given circumstances. Dean can’t really blame him for that because he knows the feeling, and as much as Dean wants to say “It’s okay,” he can’t quite muster up the courage to do it. 

Instead, he twiddles his thumbs, feeling more and more useless as the seconds pass, like their one shot at saving Cas has quite literally vanished into thin air. 

It’s when he’s about to give up; about to go back into his room for an undisclosed amount of time with his headphones blaring, trying - and inevitably failing - to keep his thoughts quiet, that Jack speaks up.

“I don’t know if it’ll work, but I think I have an idea.” 

They’re out of the bunker and in the impala in less than ten minutes, driving to a crossroads, far enough that they won’t be compromising the bunker’s location, but close enough to be able to hightail it back if they run into serious problems. Though, Dean reminds Jack that they  _ did  _ defeat literal God, so a little crossroads demon should be a piece of cake.

Sam calls once, unheard as it rings from inside the car, Dean performing the same summoning spell he’s done more times than he can count. When he buries the box, he takes a deep breath and looks up at Jack.

It’s too quiet. 

“Well, I know I did everything right,” he says, looking around just in case he somehow missed a pair of glowing red eyes. For a moment, he even thinks that maybe he just  _ can’t  _ summon demons anymore, that his ability had been revoked after the God power dispersion. He does everything to avoid coming to the more logical conclusion. He closes his eyes.

“There are no demons, are there?” he asks, already knowing the answer, and more disappointed by the fact that he didn’t see this coming. If he wasn’t losing his touch before, he definitely is now. 

Jack gets that mix of sadness and guilt again, and Dean finds himself fighting against the ‘It’s okay’ for the second time that day. It’s  _ not _ okay. 

“Why are we here, Jack?”

He won’t like the answer, but asking is the only way he can feel like he at least  _ tried  _ to prevent whatever is about to happen.

“So I can do the summoning,” he says with a surety and resignation too far beyond his years to be anything but gut-wrenching to Dean. Because despite the circumstances and all the words Jack  _ isn’t  _ saying, he sounds proud. It’s like looking into a funhouse mirror. 

“That’s not what we agreed to back- When we were in the bunker, you said  _ I  _ would be summoning the demon. You said you would stand back and let me handle it.” 

“It’s not that kind of summoning. I’m the one who needs to do this. I’m the only one who can.” 

“No.”

“Dean-”

“No. Jack, you’re not sacrificing yourself  _ again _ . It’s not happening. I don’t know why you’d even think that’s okay.”

“I learned it from you.” The air is still, no whistling wind or rustling leaves as Dean contemplates the many ways he could interpret a single sentence, each one more painful than the last. 

He thinks about all of the things he’s said, the way he’s treated Jack over the past few years, and in the weeks leading up to Chuck’s defeat especially, and gets angry with himself. He’s had weeks to start making it up to Jack - not that he really thinks he’d ever be able to; you don’t just  _ get over _ hearing someone you care about say that you’re not a part of the family - but instead he’s spent his time moping around the bunker, waiting for his life to mean something.

And he knows nothing good has ever come of hinging his self-worth on the lives of other people, but he’s pretty sure losing Jack like this would obliterate any chance he has at being a decent person. 

“Don’t-”

“Dean… I want to do this. It’s the one thing I’m sure of. My mom did it so- so I could be born. Cas did it so I could stay alive. Now it’s my turn.”

Dean doesn’t realize until Jack is finished talking that he’s been shaking his head back and forth, refusing to stop for even a second in case Jack somehow misconstrues that to mean he’s giving him permission.

“It’s a cycle, Jack. Don’t you get it? Chuck isn’t pulling the strings but you’re still doing the  _ same  _ thing we’ve been doing for years,” Dean says, slow like he’s approaching a small child who might scream or run away at the slightest provocation. But Jack stands tall, shoulders strong and face set in a way that’s halfway between determined and scared. 

“But you can’t do it without him,” Jack asserts, and like he can tell Dean is about to run face-first into denial, he keeps going, “You’ve tried. I’ve seen you do it before, but you can’t. It’s why you hated me.”

“I didn’t-”

“This time is worse. You don’t have anyone to hate, so you’re angry at yourself instead. I love you and I love Cas. I don’t want you to be sad anymore. Isn’t this what family does for each other?” 

“No, it isn’t. It’s what _I’ve_ done for a long time, but it wasn’t for my family or for anyone but myself. And it never ends. You have to know that even if this does work, we will never stop looking for ways to bring you back, and Cas- Cas will _never_ forgive me if I let you do this.” 

For a moment, Jack seems to contemplate that, considering all of the things that self-sacrifice fails to mend, as well as the new problems it creates. But it’s gone in a matter of seconds, guilt and fear erased in favor of calculated resolve. 

“You’re not  _ letting me  _ do anything. This is my choice, and you can’t stop me. It’s all going to be okay,” he says, to Dean but also to himself as he begins the fight against the tears in his eyes. Dean’s own start to sting the moment he sees the glints of moonlight reflected back at him. 

“It’s not going to be  _ okay. _ I care about you; we all do. Isn’t that enough for you to at least listen to me? You’re doing the same thing Cas did.” There’s a pause. A moment where the air passes through both of them, and Jack finally lets out a tiny sob, young and delicate and terrified. But he continues to step backward, away from Dean.

“I’m sorry.”

Everything after that happens twice as fast.

Dean barely has time to think before Jack is unsheathing an expertly hidden angel blade, dragging it along the top of his arm until gold pours out. And though he knows he can move, that nothing is stopping him from running over and knocking the blade to the ground, Dean feels stuck in place, forced to watch the tip of the blade move further and further down Jack’s arm until ground begins to open up. 

A familiar face apparates, manifesting from dark tendrils until the full form is standing just a few feet away from Jack. It isn’t Meg, but it looks just like her until she starts talking. 

“The nephilim. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. This is like a two-for-one deal,” she says with a smirk, but it lacks Meg’s character, and weirdly enough, her humanity. 

Jack’s grace wraps around the shadow, like an extra limb. She looks down and manages to laugh. 

“I certainly hope this isn’t your version of a trap. Grace is finite; you won’t be able to hold me forever,” she says, sounding more annoyed by Jack’s actions than anything. She definitely isn’t threatened, and that’s when Dean’s chest starts tightening, beads of sweat forming at his hairline even in the freezing cold. 

Despite this, Jack seems to ignore her entirely, looking directly at her face, and yet his gaze goes beyond her physicality. When Dean finally understands what he’s looking at his eyes widen and his heart rate lurches into dangerous territory. 

“Cas-” Jack’s words are cut by more raucous laughter from the shadow, but there’s a tension that runs through the sound that makes Dean more hopeful than he’s been all night. He clenches his fists, nails dragging against his palms, reprimanding himself for the thought. After all, when has hope ever panned out for him? 

Jack takes a slow breath in, stumbling a bit as his grace continues in a slow, steady stream out of his body. 

“I know you’re in there. I know you’re awake; It’s because of me. You’re  _ all  _ awake.”

Dean can feel his brain shake and rattle inside his skull, trying to make sense of what Jack is saying, clearly in no position to be asking questions, but needing to know when he should intervene, or if it would even be safe to do so.

When the shadow moves, it’s a stilted half-motion; involuntary, but clearly controlled by  _ something.  _

“Wait, Cas is- Cas is in  _ there _ ?” he asks aloud, completely unaware, his unfiltered thoughts sounding almost foreign as they spill from his mouth. 

Jack shakes, struggling to keep the connection between him and the shadow without completely draining his life force. When he speaks again, his words catch with the tremors of his body. 

“They all are. She doesn’t just exist in the empty, she  _ is  _ the empty. Every angel - every demon - is in there, awake and loud,” he says, matter-of-fact in a way that makes Dean think that he’s been sitting on this knowledge for a while. And Dean knows this whole plan was premeditated, but the constant reminders hurt in a way he’s never experienced. 

He can’t do anything but stand there, mouth hanging open like he doesn’t deal with this kind of stuff for a living, while the 3-year-old takes the reins.

“Cas,” he repeats, pleading as his voice grows progressively weaker, “Cas, show that you can hear me. Do something.” 

The shadow trembles once again, a flash of blue her eyes and mouth, so bright it even looks like it glows through her skin, leaving little colorful spots floating around in Dean’s vision. 

“We’re here to save you. Dean is here with me. We want you to come back,” Jack says, finally sounding every bit like the child he actually is; stripped of ultimate power and instead entirely dependent upon a parent. “Dean, help me. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

Dean’s eyes catch the gold thread, getting thinner and thinner, and he springs into action. No time for thinking or overthinking, just saving his family. 

“Cas, can you hear me?” he asks, and it’s reminiscent of the old trees and the dirt beneath his knee and the tears he’d finally let free. He doesn’t bother waiting for a response, just keeps throwing out words until there are none left in his chest. “There’s so much I never got to say to you. I wanted to pretend I didn’t have time, but I had time. So much time, and I was always just… too scared. But now that I’m standing here, I don’t know what I was so scared of.”

In his mind, he knows it was rejection and loss and the ruination of one of the only good parts of his life, but those fears seem conjured up from nothing but Dean’s own overactive imagination. 

“Please, come home with us,” he practically begs, ready to fall to his knees if he thought it might actually help. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he finishes his thought. “Come home with  _ me. _ ” 

The blast is blinding, and either silent, or so loud that Dean’s ears can’t even fathom it. It knocks him back on his ass, vision swimming and ears ringing beyond his comprehension, until he hears it, distant and close all at once. 

Cas calls for him, the sound of his name faint, but pooling with desperation. At another point in his life, Dean might have been embarrassed by his own actions, but in the present, nothing stops him from crawling in the direction of Cas’s voice, his left ankle screaming out in pain as he drags it behind him. He feels along the ground until his fingers hit something substantial and warm, squeezing Cas’s leg as if to confirm that he’s actually there on earth with him. And he can’t help it. 

Dean’s hands go for the side of Cas’s face like they’re meant to be there, just holding him in place as the spots in his eyes begin to disperse, and Cas appears in pieces. 

“Cas,” is all he can say, over and over, breathless with disbelief, and Cas responds, but it takes a few tries for Dean to realize he’s trying to draw his attention to something.

When he turns around, he sees Jack, still struggling against the shadow, and looking like he might lose his footing at any moment and just succumb to her. The relief he felt is short-lived, replaced by a new sense of panic.

“Dean, do something,” Cas urges. But Dean is just one person, and now he’s got a busted ankle and zero clue of how to go about saving Jack from an entity as old as time itself. 

“What do I do?” he asks anyway. He moves his leg to test the range of motion and despite the limits, Dean actually feels no pain thanks to the lifetime supply of adrenaline pumping through his veins. 

Cas only looks around frantically before coming to a realization. 

“My grace.”

“What about it?” 

“It’s gone.” 

The information is enough on it’s own to spark a thousand questions in Dean’s clouded brain, Cas answering the most important of them all without even hearing it aloud. 

“The empty can only take angels and demons; not humans.” 

“So, what do I…?” Halfway through the sentence, Dean understands, shaking his head the same way he had with Jack, despite the dizziness it now causes him.

“Are you kidding? I’ll kill him. He can’t survive without his grace. We already know that from experience,” Dean says, but when he looks into his own thoughts, he turns up empty on possible alternatives. 

“Dean, if you do nothing, he’s going to die no matter what.”

Dean hobbles. He struggles on his feet, and bending down for the discarded angel blade proves to be more difficult than he ever thought it could be. The ringing is back, drowning out Jack’s screams that he knows are piercing the air as Dean further opens the wound Jack created, widening it and unable to think or say anything but “I’m sorry” on repeat, dragging Jack away from the shadow until tears prickle at his eyes again. 

There’s no explosion this time, just the last glimmers of Jack’s grace disappearing in the black threads of the shadow as it sinks back into the ground. He carries Jack’s limp, unconscious body as far as he can, collapsing beside Cas, putting one arm around him and using the other one to hold Jack close. 

He tries to breathe. 

\--- 

When Jack remains unconscious for a full 24 hours, Dean starts to get really worried. He knew the whole situation would be touch and go, but he wasn’t expecting for it to go on for so long. Every once in a while, he thinks he sees Jack move, a finger twitch or a fluttering of eyelids, but it’s all just the hope flooding his head and his heart. 

He walks up to his body, laid out stiff on his bed, checking every two minutes that he’s still breathing. Neither him nor Cas leave the room, sitting in uncomfortable chairs when they aren’t pacing the length of the room. When Sam and Eileen get back, it’s sooner than Dean was anticipating.

“We turned around when you didn’t pick up on the third call. Would’ve gotten here sooner if it weren’t for all the traffic on the highway,” Sam says, going right to Jack’s side, also checking his breathing even though Dean had just done it a few moments before. He has all the concern that Dean and Cas have without the back pain and bags under his eyes. 

“You should take a nap,” Eileen says and signs, looking at both of them, trying but failing to conceal a grimace. Neither Cas nor Dean move, both still looking in Jack’s general vicinity. If the situation wasn’t so dire, she probably would’ve rolled her eyes before speaking again. Instead she just looks sad. “At least get something to eat.” 

When Sam joins her in the request, Dean sighs, wordlessly motioning for Cas to follow him to the kitchen. When there, it’s like the room finally has enough air breathed into it to feel tense and awkward. They chew on stale pretzels instead of dealing with any real food, the dull crunching emphasizing just how quiet the room is. 

“How did you know all of that would work?” Cas asks. It’s careful and guarded, purposely avoiding what he actually wants to talk about but is too afraid to address. Dean thinks back to the Cas he met; the one in the barn, impervious to bullets and blades and Dean’s words. The Cas who pulled him out of hell wouldn’t hesitate to say what was on his mind, nearly to a fault. 

Dean doesn’t even dare to think that it’s because of him, even if that is the most logical conclusion. Logic hasn’t always been his strong suit. 

“Didn’t. Went in with a completely different plan. Jack dropped it on me out of nowhere and I kinda had to take his word for it.  _ He  _ didn’t even know if it would work. Damn miracle if you ask me,” Dean says, going for nonchalant but nearly breathless at the realization that it  _ did  _ work. Cas is standing right here in front of him. 

“Well, I wouldn’t speak so soon,” Cas responds, looking back at the entrance to the hall, like he’s expecting Jack to walk through the threshold at any moment. He somehow manages to sound equal parts optimistic and pessimistic. “It was reckless.” 

Dean nearly scoffs. It’s an understatement and he’s not sure if Cas expected anything less of Jack. Of both of them. The thought of Cas truly believing none of them would ever try to bring him back creates a hole in his chest, filled with a very specific hurt he doesn’t think he’s felt until now. 

“Yeah, well. He’s your son.” It’s the only thing Dean can think to say, even though he grimaces before he’s finished speaking. It’s too lighthearted and joking for the situation they’re in, but Dean still can’t figure out something more appropriate to say. He’s seconds away from recanting the statement, from saying he should’ve just kept his mouth shut, when Cas responds.

“He’s  _ our  _ son.” It’s pointed and factual, like something Dean could never even dream of disputing, but when he looks at Cas, he can see the uncertainty that creases his forehead. Dean swallows the last of his fear as he realizes there’s nothing left to be afraid of. Cas already handled the hardest part, the least Dean can do is stop hiding. 

“Yeah,” is all Dean can manage to say, but the weight of it presses down on him, heavy with the words still yet to be said. It clamps his mouth shut. He  _ still _ can’t say what he wants. They’re together after having survived the unthinkable a hundred times over, and yet Dean feels like he’s back at the start of it all; like he needs to learn Cas all over again but through a completely different lens.

“Dean,” Cas interrupts his thoughts. It’s unexpected and Dean’s sure he pulled at least one muscle with how quickly he turned to look at Cas, but it’s worth it to see just how vulnerable he is. For the first time since they got Cas back, Dean feels like they might be on the same page. “I know that I left on… unusual terms. In all honesty, it was easy only because I thought I would never have to face the consequences of my actions. Now I realize that was selfish of me.”

“I shouldn’t have left you without a chance to respond. I’ve learned how important closure is, and I never should have taken that from you. I just want you to know that- I don’t want you to feel like you have to come up with a response. I didn’t say it with the intention of receiving anything in return. In fact, everything can go back to the way it was before if that’s what you-” 

It’s not an action Dean even remembers thinking about; it just happens and then ends just as quickly. But his lips had pressed against Cas’s, interrupting a sentence Dean doesn’t want to hear. 

Words don’t come to him any easier after that, but Cas seems to be just as frozen, eyes wide and shimmering in a way Dean’s never seen them before. He clears his throat, nearly choking on saliva, but powering through. 

“You’re not taking this away from me. Not now; not with both of us here and… I’m tired of saying the wrong thing all the time. But I had to do something to- to let you know I feel the same.” Dean’s voice catches every few words and he can feel an insurmountable pressure building in his head. But he also feels like he can breathe for the first time in a long time, even if it’s a little like sucking in air through a straw. 

Cas’s face goes soft around the edges, eyelashes fanning out as he briefly looks down, giving Dean just enough time to think about how beautiful he is.

Because he really isn’t; neither of them are. They’re both old and worn out and broken beyond repair, and yet Cas is still the most beautiful thing Dean has ever seen. He thinks if he were braver he might hold Cas’s face in his hands, pull him close again until their noses are touching, breaths mingling. But all Dean can do is stare. 

“For the record,” Cas starts, voice still like sandpaper, but smiling bigger than he ever has in all his years, “You didn’t say the wrong thing. That was very much the right thing.”

And it’s so Cas, Dean is surprised he doesn’t start overflowing with declarations of love. He’s about to say something like ‘Shut up’ or ‘ _ You’re _ the right thing’ when the sound of a door being flung open echoes from the hall.

“Guys! He’s waking up!” Dean and Cas rush back to the room, whispering to Jack as they support him, and for once, the interruption is welcome. They have the rest of their lives to figure out the right words to say. 

\---

Dean tapes a fallen streamer back up against the wall, but he doesn’t even have the mind to think about how strange the action is, worry crowding his mind from every angle. He looks at his phone again. 

“Jack said they’d be here at 1 and it’s already almost 2. Should I call?” he asks, though he doesn’t look up from his phone, instead scrolling through his contacts and hovering over Jack’s name, awaiting an answer.

“It’s probably just traffic. You’re worrying again,” Cas says, various bottled drinks cradled in one arm, extending the other toward Dean to briefly take his hand before heading to the cooler on the other side of the room and gently dropping the bottles into the ice. Dean nearly rolls his eyes at the nonchalance because he knows it’s all an act.

They’re both still wary because there are still things to be wary of. Ghosts and vampires and serial killers all still exist, and despite the significantly noticeable drop in cases, there are still those occasional moments that give them a run for their money and have them sighing into each other’s shoulders. 

“Right, ‘cause you’re not concerned at all…” Dean says in a way that doubles as asking for approval to hit the glowing green call button. Cas seems to consider Dean’s words before reaching a reasonable middle ground.

“Ten more minutes. If we still haven’t heard anything, then we call,” Cas asserts, ice sloshing once more before he closes the lid of the cooler. In another time, Dean would argue, or even just leave the room to make the call regardless of what anyone said to him. Now he just tapes up the fallen streamer again, getting a fresh piece of tape for insurance. It makes him frown just a little bit. 

“Is this stupid?” he asks, still looking at the brightly colored strip of paper like it’ll answer the question for him.

“I know we’re trying to do it less, but worrying is completely normal, especially when-”

“No, not that. This.” 

Cas walks over to him, eyes following Dean’s line of sight but landing on nothing in particular.

“What?”

Dean nearly rolls his eyes at the prospect of having to explain himself before remembering he’d promised to work on that too. He still rolls his eyes mentally.

“ _ This _ , you know? All of it. But especially the dollar store decorations. Isn’t it all just kinda stupid? Like who cares about balloons past the age of 5?” Dean asks, finally noticing just how much of the house and backyard is adorned with the stuff. It looks like a child’s birthday party and Jack didn’t even have a hand in it. Dean’s face goes red just looking at the things.

“Do you not like them? You chose the colors so I assumed-”

“No, it’s not the colors, it’s just- I don’t think this is  _ us,  _ you know?”

Cas tilts his head.

“No.” 

Dean sighs. 

“I don’t have parties with balloons. I go to dive bars and drink cheap beer until my ears start ringing, and then I pass out without taking my shoes off,” Dean explains, but it sounds hollow even to him, something he hasn’t actually done in years but is still more natural to talk about than most of the things he does now. 

“Do you  _ want  _ a party with balloons?” Cas asks. It’s not a trick question. It’s straightforward and simple, but Dean still thinks about it. He imagines hypothetical birthday parties and school dances he never got to go to, immediately refusing the wave of self-pity that wants so desperately to pull him down until he’s drowning in it. He looks away before giving a response.

“I’m not a kid,” he says, the words getting caught in his throat like he’s going to start crying, but really it’s just an embarrassing conversation to be having in his mid-40s. 

“I didn’t ask if you were a kid.” It’s soft and even when Cas says it, even when Dean can hear what it would sound like in the harsher voice of someone else. He can hear Cas inhale before starting again.

“Dean, do you want to take this stuff down?” Cas asks. It’s the same question as before, only slightly easier for Dean to answer this time. It’s something Cas does a lot; edits his words to make Dean more comfortable. It’s one of those things that makes Dean think he doesn’t deserve Cas in his life. 

He shakes his head, looking around at the splotches of color.

“It’s tacky, and the more I look at it the more I think we did a really bad job… but I think Jack will like it, even if I also think Jody will make fun of us for it the whole night.”

“I doubt she’ll do that.”

“Dude, she still gives me shit for living in the suburbs when this isn’t even a suburb. It’s suburb-adjacent at best. We don’t even have neighbors; how’s that a suburb?” 

Dean can see the way Cas barely holds in a sigh at the change of topic. So maybe Dean has argued about the suburb thing to the point of exhaustion. Doesn’t make him any less right. 

“Would a suburb really be so bad?” Cas asks, just to be contrarian. To balance out the heaviness of the moment prior in the way he’s so good at doing. Dean should start taking notes.

“ _ Yes _ , Cas. It’s like you don’t even know me. Do I look like the kinda guy who wants to say good morning to someone when I’m getting the mail?”

“We have a P.O. box.”

“My point still stands. Do you really think-” 

The doorbell cuts through Dean’s rambling, which means it isn’t Jack and Claire, who would’ve done all but kick down the door, loudly announcing their presence. Dean checks his phone, ready to make the call when an extremely timely text from Jack pops up.

“‘Almost home! Stopped for french fries.’ Yeah, because it’s not like we have food here or anything,” Dean says, gesturing to everything set out on their small table and every inch of counter space. 

“They were hungry,” Cas says, on the same side as he always is on the matter. Dean could’ve squinted at him so hard if it weren’t for the doorbell ringing  _ again _ . 

“I’m coming!” Dean yells, but he doesn’t walk to the front door with any sense of urgency.

“Dude, just walk in,” Dean says to his brother before anything else. It isn’t the first time he’s said the exact same words.

“I’m just trying to be polite,” Sam bitches, just managing to finish his sentence before a giggling toddler runs past their legs and into the kitchen. 

“Maura,” Eileen and his brother shout and sign, so in sync that Dean would make a joke about them being the same person if Sam didn’t still have an arsenal of jokes ready to be fired about him and Cas. Dean’s a little better at picking his battles these days. 

“It’s fine. Cas is in the kitchen,” he reassures them, her location confirmed by the tell-tale squeal of being swung up in Cas’s arms, even though Dean has cautioned him against it at least a dozen times. Muscle strains are no joke at their age, and god, Dean feels old saying that. It would suck if Dean wasn’t so elated at just the  _ thought _ of getting old. 

“Where’s Jack? I have something for him,” Sam says, looking outside to see an empty spot where Claire’s car should be.

“Still on the road. Is it another one of your weird books?” Dean asks, because it’s always a weird book; some obscure series that never seems to end and Jack can’t seem to ever get enough of. 

“We know you read them, Dean. Jack told us that you take them out of his room,” Eileen interjects, not even waiting for a response as she walks past him to join Cas and Maura.

“I skim to make sure they’re age appropriate,” he says uselessly to her retreating form, Sam obviously trying his hardest not to laugh in his face.

“Shut up,” Dean says, useless once again, as it does nothing more than trigger Sam’s full-fledged laughter. Dean closes the door behind Sam, both of them walking back to the kitchen to see Cas and Eileen, signing to each other secretly and faster than Dean can comprehend, Maura inspecting the floor at their feet. Dean just manages to catch something at the end of Cas’s sentence. 

“Hey,” he says, raising his hands to sign back, still lacking the confidence that Cas and Sam have, but he’s working on it. “I know you’re talking about me.” 

“Us? We would never,” Eileen signs and speaks, both her and Cas also breaking into laughter. Dean thinks he’s probably better off not knowing. He bends down to pick up Maura, grateful that none of his joints crack.

“At least you aren’t conspiring against me,” he says, watching her shake her arms with excitement before she wraps them around his head in some semblance of a hug. He can feel himself tearing up at it, so he’s never been more relieved that Jack and Claire are back and loudly parading through the house. 

Dean raises one of Maura’s arms to wave at them.

“Older children,” he greets, Jack waving back with way too much enthusiasm for someone who just finished an 8-hour drive. And while years ago, Claire would’ve argued that she’s not a child, now she just looks unimpressed.

Maura is transferred from one pair of loving arms to another (and it goes that way for the rest of the evening) as Claire takes her from Dean, looking straight into her eyes when she whispers “Don’t listen to anything he says.”

“Hey,” is all he gets out before Sam asks where they’re coming back from this time. 

“The Keys! We went parasailing! We went  _ so  _ high!” Jack says, looking like he’s seconds from jumping up and down. Dean levels a glance at Claire.

“It wasn’t  _ that  _ high. He’s exaggerating. Right, Jack?” she says, looking at him without blinking. He stops flailing. 

“It wasn’t that high,” he says, nodding along like it’s something they rehearsed. Even though it’s more likely that Jack wasn’t supposed to bring up the parasailing in the first place. 

“You should’ve told us,” Cas says, and Dean is ready to chime in with his own take on the matter when Cas continues, “We could’ve gone with you. It sounds fun.”

Before Dean can start a rant about how that’s not how parenting works, Claire laughs.

“You could never keep up with us. There’s a reason why it’s just the two of us. Sometimes we just need to have fun. Without you,” she asserts, slinging her free arm around Jack’s shoulders, watching as Maura reaches over to grab Jack’s nose. 

“I think they’re unionizing,” Cas says, leaning over to whisper to Dean. Dean clears his throat.

“Yeah, well,  _ we  _ had fun without  _ you.  _ Right, Cas?” he counters, even though they definitely did not have parasailing in the Florida Keys-level fun. More like ‘ice cream after a trip to the dollar store’ fun. Cas kisses his cheek anyway which receives a resounding ‘eugh’ from Claire. Dean considers that a win. 

Soon after, Garth and Bess arrive, the twins screaming and trying to tackle each other, but going silent when they see Maura waddling towards them. Gertie looks at her like she’s a tiny miracle. 

“I can’t believe you got them to shut up,” she says, still looking on in awe as they sit on the ground with the toddler. 

The backyard fills out even more when Jody and Donna get there, along with the rest of the girls, everyone immediately grabbing a plate of food, hungry after their drive from Sioux Falls was lengthened by a 90-minute traffic jam. 

“You should consider a new career,” Jody says after they’ve all gathered at the table outside, all just slightly too close together, brushing elbows every so often.

“Because I’m such a great chef?” Dean asks, smug only because he has a mouthful of food telling him he could totally do it, especially now that cases are dwindling. The amount of times they’ve had to intervene in the last year can be counted on two hands. 

“No, because of your stellar decorating skills,” she says with more sarcasm than Dean’s ever heard in one sentence. He can’t even be offended, too busy looking at Cas with wide eyes, a look that says ‘What did I tell you?’ without the actual words. 

“I think it’s fun!” Donna interjects. “Like a birthday party, but for a family.” Everyone goes quiet for just a moment, just looking at each other and smiling. Dean can hardly believe it.

They feel like living movie frames; something he would watch other people have and experience, but never him. It’s almost stereotypical, like the final scene of a b-rated romantic comedy, but the absolute strangest version of it. There’s never been another family like theirs, and Dean doesn’t even think it’s stupid to feel proud of that. He’s just glad they all found each other. 

Everyone is having separate conversations, voices big and unfettered, each one drowning out the other, but Dean thinks there are few things as peaceful as this. Even with Garth and Bess taking turns yelling at the twins to quit fighting, and Sam desperately trying to keep a squirming, restless Maura on his lap while Eileen laughs at him, Claire and Kaia have their joined hands resting on the table, talking like the chaos surrounding them doesn’t even exist. 

It’s sweet, even if Dean would never say so out loud, for his  _ and  _ Claire’s sake. 

Eventually, the kids tire themselves out, the twins finally settling down while Maura is moments away from falling asleep in Jack’s arms, eyelids fluttering as she fights to keep her head up. 

That’s when it hits Dean.

“We need a group picture,” he says, already standing from the table to go back into the house and look for Cas’s camera. 

“Wait, you  _ want  _ to have your picture taken?” Sam asks like it’s the most unbelievable thing he’s heard since he arrived. And there’s been some novel sentences said tonight. 

“Yeah, so? Shut up,” he says, ignoring Sam’s laughter in favor of heading down to the basement, which in addition to functioning as their armory, has also become Cas’s makeshift photography dark room. Cas isn’t sure it’ll lead to anything, but he likes taking pictures of the animals and bugs he finds in the copse behind their house, and Dean likes when Cas is happy.

When he enters, photos are still strung up from where Cas left them to dry, forcing him to maneuver underneath the clotheslines until he finds the camera sitting on the table along the edge of the far wall. 

It’s what nearly sets off the tears he’s held back for most of the night. Not the camera, but where it rests, nestled among the amateur knife marks carved into the wood years ago. 

It had felt more than a little stupid when Dean suggested taking the table out of the bunker and bringing it back to the house. Afterall, it’s not like the bunker was going unused. It was still a meeting place for hunters, not even too far from where they are now. An information hub like it was originally meant to be. The table still would’ve been of use had it been left behind.

And the thing was heavy; lugging it up the stairs certainly hadn’t been fun, and Dean’s back ached for days afterward. but now that he’s looking at it again, tracing the ‘M’ with his finger, he can’t imagine leaving it behind for everyone else to see. 

A tear slips down his face, making the room blur until Dean gives into the feeling; of knowing that in a different scenario, he might not be able to look at this memory of his mother without breaking out in rage or a long period of silence 

Now he thinks of what it would be like with her here; how proud she would be of Sam. And of Dean, too. Because while they may not have lived the life she pictured for them when she was rocking Sam to sleep and cutting the crusts off Dean’s sandwiches, they’re alive. 

But it’s more than that.

They’re alive and surrounded by people who only want to see them happy, and that’s more than can be said about a majority of their lives. And yeah, it would be all the better if she could see it for herself, but Dean is no longer in a place where he dwells on thoughts like that. He isn’t kept awake at night thinking about the ways things could’ve gone differently because now he knows they couldn’t have. And it took a long time to be able to accept that, too. He wouldn’t have been surprised if it was something he struggled with forever, but now he has a family of his own, and one that isn’t going to be wished away by a malevolent god who decides to go off-script.

For the first time in his whole life,  _ he’s  _ in control of what happens, and the knowledge itself is so overwhelming he nearly chokes on it, but when the tears finally stop, he can’t do anything except smile in disbelief that  _ this  _ is his life and that he gets to live so much more of it.

Above him, the ceiling creaks with the weight of someone about to come down the stairs, made all the more obvious by Cas’s tentative voice pouring into the room.

“Dean? Did you find the camera?” he asks, staying near the door where he’ll inevitably end up waiting for Dean. He supposes there’s no point in trying to hide now. 

“Yeah, I’m coming,” he responds before wiping the wet streaks from his face, grabbing the camera and taking the stairs slower than he usually does. When he emerges into the light of the house, he knows Cas can tell he’s been crying. His whole face softens in the way it has for years; the way Dean refused to acknowledge for so long out of fear that the vulnerability would leave him dead. 

“You need a minute,” Cas says. It isn’t a question or a command, just a display of how clearly Cas understands him, from his skin down to the marrow of his bones. Dean just laughs.

“Well, I can’t take a picture looking like this,” he jokes, just narrowly avoiding wiping his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. Cas looks like he wants to argue and say something cheesy like ‘You’re beautiful all the time,’ but what he actually says is just as sweet. 

“They can wait for us.”

Every photo they take is a little blurry, Cas comes to find in the following days, but they still frame it before sending out copies to everyone else.

Dean can’t wait to take another one next year. 

**Author's Note:**

> Things the finale should've addressed instead of inventing vampire mimes and bad wigs: found family, the empty being "loud", finally mending Dean and Jack's relationship, acknowledgement of destiel, endgame saileen, Dean getting to experience things differently or maybe even for the first time, no death or dying or heaven.
> 
> So I hope I did a good job of showing these things <3


End file.
